


Red

by LauraRose



Series: The Dark Shades of BDSM [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Breakfast, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Revenge Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:47:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LauraRose/pseuds/LauraRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never mix alcohol and BDSM, even when you trust your partner with your life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what deprived corner of my brain made this one up, but here you are. There is a lesson here: Weather you top or bottom, top from the bottom, bottom from the top, or anything between, never mix alcohol and BDSM. 
> 
> Also, I could say something about forgiveness and healing… but take of it, what you will.. 
> 
> Thanks to the lovely xphil98197 for reading through this!

“Red!”

 

Bond stopped in his tracks and the flogger fell from his fingers, onto the floor with a thud that seemed to reverberate around the room. He looked at the form that stood naked and bound, his hands held high above his head, the chain hooked on the wall. The deceptively muscular shoulders shook a little with the tension, the skin flaming red, hot and angry where blow after blow had landed.

 

He could hear the in breath and the out breath, shaking as he tried to steady them. 

 

What had he done?

 

“Q!” James said, desperately as he reached up to untie the knots that held him. Q did not answer, just pulled out of his grasp and undid the cuffs. The two wrists and then… the collar. They dropped to the floor, each sound like a gunshot in his ears.

 

James tried again. “Q, please…” 

 

He fliched away, and his gaze was low. He was shaking… sharking hard, like he was going into shock. His own fingers shook as he realised what he had done, the trust that he abused… 

 

They never played when he had a drink… so why did he lie?

 

Coming home from a mission, Bond had gone to the one person that he knew who would help him, who would help him find control in a world that he was swiftly losing control of. Had he ever had control of it in the first place?

 

No, of course he had not. 

 

“Q,” He had not said anything. Why had he not said anything? “Q, please…” he said softly and if he was ashamed of that little lilt in his voice, he did not hide it. “Please… tell me what to do… I need you to tell me…” 

 

Q turned on him, his eyes hard… and hurt. His chest was a mess of marks, the welts red, and in several placed, the skin had broken open. Bond felt sick. At the time when he had wielded the whip… He had taken some sort of perverse pleasure in the marks, in the skin that cracked open… in the tears that ran down his lovers face. 

 

He wanted to put the gun to his head. 

 

“I am going to shower,” Q said quietly, his voice low… halting. James moved to follow him - he needed to make sure he was alright, didn’t he? Perform after care? Q raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. Bond could see the marks in Q’s palm, a ring of grooves where he had dug his nails into his own skin, trying to maintain control. 

 

“No… I need to be alone for a while…”

 

That quiet voice terrified Bond more than any of the bad people in the world, and Q went into the bathroom. Bond listened to the shower click on… he went to the bedroom, opened his suitcase and started to chuck his things in. Just throwing the basics in, pants, socks, trousers… a shirt. He could come back tomorrow and get the rest…

 

There was a photo on his bed stand, him and Q last year in the south of France (and they had only gone there because Bond could drive there, ergo, air travel was not required). Q with his arms around Bond’s neck as he leaped on his back, both of them looking alive… fresh… 

 

The Q that had gotten in the shower seemed dead inside. 

 

“What are you doing?” That quiet voice should have startled him, it didn’t. He had heard it coming and he chuckled the photo into the top of the case. Bond hand shook as he slowly did it up, the sound of the zip cutting through the silence.

 

“I hurt you…” James said, and his voice quavered with the emotions that he was not saying. With his gaze downcast, he looked away from Q and muttered something about needing a drink. His emotions were in complete and utter turmoil, a roiling storm that he could not escape. Fear and self loathing combined into something that made his pulse want to slow and never speed up. 

 

The cold was creeping in, threatening to close his eyes. 

 

A hand, a fist tangled into his hair and he yelped. The reaction was to lash out, throw the danger over his shoulder but the voice cut through the instinct. “On your knees, 007,” he snarled. 

 

Bond sunk to his knees and was horrified to realise that there tears streaming down his face. Just that touch, that command had cut through the walls and revealed the layers, cracking through the surface. Emotions roiled in him and surfaced. It was all he could do not to curl up in a ball on the floor and weep. Weep for the innocent who should not have died. 

 

He needed to be stronger, harder, faster. 

 

He had failed.

 

Q held him there, forcing his submission, forcing him to feel those rolling terrible emotions. All the time he stood behind Bond, stroking his fingers through his hair until the tears stopped and all he felt was numb. The tears stopped as he regained some self control.

 

“Don’t move,” Q said quietly and Bond sniffed as he nodded, because he simply could not do anything else at this moment in time. He was sinking into blackness, into a deep where there was no end, no light… endless darkness. 

 

The light came in the form of Q as he came back in… bearing his own cuffs? Bond opened his mouth to spit out that he was never going to touch Q again, but Q read his mind. 

 

“They’re not for me, they are for you. Do you trust me?” 

 

The little bastard knew he had him. After what Bond had just done, Bond had no choice but to nod slowly. 

 

“You’re not forgiven… far from it…” Q said slowly and the cuffs dropped beside him. James jerked as if he had been slapped. “But… you need to get out of your head… and I will drag you there if I have too... I spend most of my life worried sick about losing you on a mission, I will not lose you to yourself... “ 

 

Slowly, Q knelt behind him and Bond felt the polished leather encircle each wrist, and clasp behind his back. Bond whined and he squirmed. Q soothed him with gentle touches, petting his hair and shoulders as if he was an animal in need of calming.  Instinct kicked in, and he tugged at the cuffs, pulling at the metal. He could break out, break free, and then he could run and he did not have to face this humiliation and…

 

Q kissed him. 

 

It was a savage kiss, a forceful thing and it took Bond by surprise, leaving Q the opening to take advantage. He swept in, and bit his lip hard, hard enough to draw a tiny bead of blood. Q licked it, and Bond could feel the salty taste in his mouth. 

 

Q’s gaze was hard as nails and Bond shivered but went still under that gaze. 

 

Judge, Jury and Executioner, Bond would take whatever Q gave. 

 

Again, the young man did not ask when he slid the blindfold over Bond’s eyes. It was a risk that he was taking - and if this worked, he would never tell Bond that he had brought the experimental taser home from work and that it was sitting within his reach - but it was a risk that was  worth taking if it could save them from Bond’s own idiocy. 

 

Q pulled him back slowly so that James was leaning back into his grip. Bond stiffened and Q’s hand reached for the taser… but the man relaxed. 

 

“You are such a idiot to come home and not tell me…” Q’s hands ran up and down his bare chest, soft, soothing strokes with the flat of his palms. Bond shuddered in his grip, and Q felt the nipples become erect under his touch. He let his thumbs trace circled around the nipples, watching them as they peeked, darkening in colour. 

 

“I… I just wanted to forget… I wanted to feel again…” he whispered, lips dry. Q stroked down his chest and he allowed himself to let go, to just feel the touch. 

 

“Your an idiot, double-oh-fucking-seven,” Q whispered and pinched those erect peaks; Bond howled but he did not let go, moving with Bond as he squirmed, not letting him get away that easily. Eventually, whimpering, Bond made himself go still, forced himself to relax and lean back against Q. 

 

Q’s chest vibrated in a pleased hum, and Bond felt himself let out a sigh of relief… This was good, he was pleasing Q. He wanted to please him, wanted his approval. He wanted the one person who saw through all the anger and the pain, all the sex and the fucking to take him to bed tonight and still be there in the morning. 

 

The moment that Q released the sensitive buds, Bond cursed as blood rushed into the abused flesh, and then blood rushed somewhere else… and…  oh!

 

He had not expected an erection at this point. 

 

Q licked the shell of his ear, and nuzzled at his neck. “My baby… always got your mind in the gutter…” Hands scooted closer to the erection, then danced away like feathers on a breeze. Back and fourth… 

 

Bond squirmed against Q, and felt one arm slide around his torso, holding him still. 

 

“Shh, love,” Q whispered in his ear. “I’ve got you… I am going to make all the pain go away… do you believe me?” 

 

Bond nodded vehemently. 

 

A slender hand, the fire cooled by the feel of lube encircled his cock. Bond groaned out loud and shuddered, his head turning into the heat of Q’s neck, but it was never quite close enough. 

 

Slick fingers slid over the the skin lightly, a gentle motion, almost ticklish… but ice cracked around his sone heart as he did, and it flooded into his bloodstream. Bond jerked as he felt the motion. 

 

“We are a pair, you and I… and you betrayed my trust tonight, James…” Again, the fingers slid up and down, but it did not enough to bring him any real satisfaction. James’s lips moved slowly, and he was saying something over and over again, although he had no idea what it was until Q spoke.. 

 

“Yes, I will.”

 

Punish me. 

 

He had been asking Q to punish him. 

 

Q’s hand stroked up and down his cock gently, but with enough firmness now so that he could feel it and slowly, very slowly, he felt a pressure start to build. The pressure inside his lower belly began to increase until it reached boiling point… 

 

And then nothing. 

 

Not a thing, his hand was gone and he was left to gasp like a fish out of water as he tried to understand what had happened… He could feel Q behind him, and the hand spread on his racing heart. 

 

This was his punishment. 

 

When his heart and breathing had slowed so much that he could think straight… and that hand wrapped around him again. 

 

He cried out softly, whimpering as once again, it took him to the edge of orgasm… and then stopped, leaving him feeling bereft. Asside from the desperate whimpers and the half voiced pleas, he was quiet… He would take whatever scraps Q would give him.

 

Three more times, Q took him to the edge, and every time, Bond lost a little more of himself, a little more of his self loathing destroyed, replaced with the desperate primal need to come. His erection ess large, red and sensitive, he writhed with every movement… but Q held him close, held him secure against his chest. 

 

Tight in Q’s arms, he was safe… Even after what he had done he was still cherished. 

 

“Do you want to come for me, baby?” Q whispered in his ear, a sultry purr. 

 

James nodded. 

 

“Please…” he whispered. “Oh, please… ple-please let me come...” James Bond begged, needing the release. All that anguish and horror. The mission gone wrong, the horror of what he had done… they all sat in his body like pus in a wound, a poison that was slowly killing him. 

 

Q flicked his thumb over the head of his cock, stimulating the bundle of nerves there. 

 

“Come for me…” 

 

Lightning flashed through his body, and he roared as he came, his cock twitching painfully as he loosed thick come in a stream. It seemed to last a lifetime, as the orgasm lanced the wounds, and drew out the toxins in his body, until there was nothing left in him and he sagged back against his lover. 

 

“Shhh…” Q whispered in his ear, pulling the blindfold away slowly. Bond blinked, shock in his gaze as he looked around, adjusting to his surroundings again. It was a heightened, almost painful awareness. The cuffs were released and once again, they made him jerk. 

 

Q pulled him to his feet and gently coaxed him through to the bedroom. He pulled the covers back, and steered the naked Bond into the bed, gentle touches, soft words of encouragement. The moment Q was in the bed, Bond rolled over and pressed his face into Q’s chest, and he sobbed until he could no more and sleep claimed him...

 

The morning after the night before, Bond woke to an empty bed. 

Panic set in for a wild moment. Had Q left him? 

 

Then he saw the photo in the frame, back on his side of the bed where it belonged. Out the case and back so that no matter what side he woke up on, he always woke to Q.

 

No… He was still here. 

 

Slowly, Bond crawled out of bed, his nipples smarting. Glancing down, he noted how red they where. He pulled on his boxers and found that he could not quite stand the idea of fabric rubbing against them.

 

They weren’t half as sore as Q would be. 

 

Wandering out, he found Q, sitting in the floor in the front room, looking out the floor to ceiling windows, a mug of earl grey in his hands. He was in Bond shirt, the one that he had taken off the night before. Shirt and a pair of loose cotton sweatpants that would not chafe against his abused skin. 

 

Bond stopped in the doorway and swallowed the lump in his throat. The urge to cry or jump for joy… he had no idea which...

 

“There's hot water in the kettle,” Q said quietly. 

 

Nodding, Bond set about and make himself a cup of coffee before he came and sat beside him. 

 

Silence took them, and Bond shifted awkwardly until Q spoke. 

 

“You can’t run away, attack or fight every problem you have, darling. We have talked about that,” Q turned and faced Bond. He raised a hand to cup his cheek, Bond shied away from the touch. 

 

Q let his hand drop. 

 

“I’m… I am so sorry… Just please, let me make it up to you… Ill do anything… ” Bond whispered, his voice lilting a little. He opened his mouth again to beg and plead, to get down on his hands and knees, but a single finger was pressed to his lips. 

 

Blue eyes rose to meet green ones, sad, but warm, hurt… but forgiving. They had hit a snag. Bond may not know how to work through those, but Q did. 

 

“I know…” Q said gently. “I am sorry I did not stop you sooner… we are both sorry,” Q shifted and winced a little. Oh, he would be feeling this one today. He fixed his gaze on Bond, the brilliant broken man that he loved. 

 

“You’ll do anything?” Q asked, arching an eyebrow. 

 

Bond nodded. 

 

“You can start with breakfast.” 


End file.
